Sonic X: The Last Resort
by Thomas the Traveler
Summary: "Sometimes, a hasty decision seems good, but has terrible consequences. It looks to me like this was one." Chris Thorndyke has returned home, and to a normal life, confident he has improved the lives of his Mobian friends. Little does he know that his plan to bring peace to Mobius has started events that will threaten his entire world; and this time, Sonic isn't here to help!
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

With a sound ten times as powerful as a thunderclap, the pod burst through the quantum alignment and into Earth's atmosphere, descending toward the surface at hypersonic speeds. Panic ensued across the planet as news of the "monster-comet" was reported to those in power. Yet even as preparations for the impending catastrophe were begun, the pod activated an extra booster engine which redirected its course into the sea. The tsunami caused by the impact reached no farther than the Antarctic shores nearby, and the world breathed a sigh of relief.

Then came the questions: What had happened? Why hadn't they seen this coming? Had whatever-it-was remained intact? Exploration crews were immediately formed, and soon the more powerful nations began a mad race to be the first to reach the unidentified object.

A couple of months later, the truth had been discovered. Excavations had revealed a small spaceship on the ocean floor, and this had immediately been pulled to the surface. Inside the ship, they had found a barely-conscious young man, weak from hunger and thirst. According to him, he had been testing a new propulsion system, and had discovered too late that it was impossible to control. As a result, he had become stuck in orbit for nearly a year, trying to find a way to return the ship to Earth. Eventually, the ship had drifted into orbit itself, and accelerated to the speeds which had caught so much attention.

This explanation was received with great excitement in the field of science, and soon the young man was being constantly pestered by the world's great institutions of science to reveal the details of his experiment. He refused, however, and quickly receded back into the life he had led before disappearing a year ago. This annoyed quite a few people, but that was exactly what he wanted. It kept them from thinking to hard about his story . . .

He knew there were flaws; for instance, there wasn't nearly enough room in the pod for the amount of supplies he would need to survive a full year in space. Nor was the explanation of his return very good. Yet he could not tell them what really happened; most wouldn't believe him, and those that did wouldn't understand.

His family and friends knew; he had left a note for them before he left. But they understood why he kept quiet, so they supported his story. He was grateful for that. But he couldn't tell them the truth either. There were too many things that they _wouldn't_ understand . . . too many _he_ didn't fully understand. Only he would ever know the truth; him, and those on the other side.

Christopher Thorndyke sighed as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the computer in front of him in a tired way. Much of his spare time since he got back had been devoted to recording everything; he didn't want to forget _anything_.

 _'It's only been a few weeks,'_ he thought, _'but it feels like a lifetime. How will I move on after this?'_ Even as he asked himself, the answer occurred to him: _'Exactly the same way you moved on the first time.'_

He'd finish school (considering the news coverage of his "experiment", he didn't think it'd be that difficult to pick up where he'd left off), get a job (maybe a research scientist with G.U.N.?), and rebuild his friendships (he'd been thinking a lot about Helen, recently) and family relationships (his mom still wanted an explanation for the whole pod incident).

 _'It won't be the same,'_ he reminded himself. _'You've learned a lot. Now you have to live with it.'_

 _'. . . and, of course, there's_ that _.'_

Chris smiled to himself, thinking about the last thing he had done on Mobius before seeing Eggman. He had guessed that the evil genius had found a way to get him home (it was either that or he would be planning on capturing him as bait for Sonic, which was unlikely this soon after the war), and he had planned accordingly. He had spent almost the entire trip back on the _Blue Typhoon_ thinking about what had happened, and how it might have been prevented.

And then, just as they were landing, it hit him. The one thing (well, maybe not the only thing, but certainly an important one) that all their adventures had had in common . . . If _that_ could be stopped . . . He had started right away. He had known he didn't have much time (and it turned out to be even less than he thought). Eventually, he had found it.

Standing up, Chris took a keyring out of his pocket, and unlocked a small drawer in his desk. Inside, there lay a few things which he had brought back with him from Mobius. Moving his Miles Electric to the side, Chris pulled out a small box and laid it on the desk. Sitting down again, he unlocked the box, opened it, and took out the object inside. He smiled; _'No one will ever be hurt by you again,'_ he thought, pleased with himself.

In his hand was the white Chaos Emerald.

* * *

 **I've had this idea for almost five years, and only just got around to getting it typed. This is mostly because I wasn't sure how most readers would react to a story which centers around Chris Thorndyke (though time management had quite a bit to do with it, too . . .). So, let me know what you think of this idea, specifically whether you think I should continue it, and if board let me know what you think will happen (e.g., will Chris's plan work (I don't think so, but the story will require me to say so (spoilers!), and SEGA seems to think so if SatAM, AoStH, Underground and Boom are anything to go by (I just realized that all Sonic systems without Chaos Emeralds are second-hand TV series. I wonder if that's significant . . . but now I'm rambling, and I've done a triple parenthetical)), what kind of fanfic will this be, how long will it go, etc.). Thanks for reading and God bless you! Shalom!**

 **Afternoon of 3/3/2016**


	2. Episode 1

**Viewership: 39. Just to note, I include this so that people can get an idea of how popular the story is (or at least how good the summary is at pulling people in).**

 **A/N: First of all, let me apologize for a couple of things. One, misspelling "Thorndyke" in the last chapter—you have no idea how upset I was when I realized. Two, the rating change—something went wrong with the posting of this story, and as a result the selected characters, genera, and rating came out at their lowest setting (or something like that; I'm not 100% sure what happened). I sincerely hope the rating change in particular won't effect anyone, especially since it's only as high as it is out of my own paranoia. If anyone at all thinks it should be bumped down to K+, they just have to let me know. Finally, forgetting a disclaimer in the first chapter—those of you who have read my other stories are probably familiar that I almost always forget the disclaimer in the first post, and end up putting it in the next one. While I could just edit it in, I feel it's more interesting to leave the author's notes alone after posting.**

 **Reviews: Same here, Civ, and will do. Thanks for reviewing!  
**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own this disclaimer. I stole it from thekyuubivixen for the irony of it (plus I like his _Alternate Reality_ series, except for Alt-Sonic's swearing, and thought this would be an unusual way to recommend it). If he happens to read this and wants it taken down, he has my promise that it will be done.  
**

 **"Disclaimer- I own some Sonic games! Does that count? No? Okay...back to the corner I go..."**

* * *

Private Bentley was already firing before the door was fully open, giving the men inside no time to react to his entrance. Slamming the door behind him, he quickly entered in the lock-down code and turned for the elevator. He thought better of it, and headed toward the stairs; it would take longer, but taking the elevator left him open for an ambush, and he wasn't in a condition to handle that.

In fact, he doubted he was in much of a condition for most confrontations, short of surprise attacks like he had just used. His left shoulder was bleeding, his helmet was missing, and he wasn't sure how much ammo he had left. Sure enough, a quick check revealed he only had two magazines left. He hoped they would be enough.

A few minutes later, Bentley had reached the top of the stairs. Standing to the side of the door, he managed to open it outwards and away from him. Immediately the sound of guns unloading into the wall could be heard, corresponding with the holes appearing in the walls. The moment the sounds stopped, Bentley leaned into the doorway and returned fire. The men inside were taken off guard, and most fell directly. A few, however, managed to take cover behind a stack of crates to Bentley's left, while two had pressed themselves against the wall to his right.

Knowing he only had a few seconds before they had reloaded their weapons, Bentley rotated his body into the room, aiming at the two against the wall. With them down, he dropped to the ground and rolled in front of the crates, aiming upward. An instant later, two of the men rose up and fired their pistols toward the other end of the room. Bentley shot one, tossed his gun away and grabbed the second down to his level. By twisting the man's arm around, Bentley was able to dispatch him and move away before two more men rose up, both shooting down at the floor he had just occupied. As they spun to face him, he gunned them down and leaped behind the crates, tackling the final defender.

This man had been ready, however. The moment the two hit the floor, the man carried his legs up with the momentum, throwing Bentley off. He quickly rose to his knees and turned in one fluent motion, prepared to eliminate the intruder. Even as he raised his arm, however, Bentley pushed it away, effectively saving himself from the bullet which imbedded itself in the floor. Before the other man could react, Bentley had raised his other arm and fired.

Without wasting a moment, the soldier rushed to the control panel opposite the door he had entered by. Pressing a button and gathering his breath, he shouted, "Mayday, mayday! This is Area 99! We are under attack! I repeat, we are . . ."

A second later, the entire wall exploded.

* * *

Simon lowered the rocket launcher with a sigh of satisfaction. In a way, he was almost glad someone had made it that far. It was so much more exciting when a mission _almost_ failed.

Taking a radio off his belt, Simon took another glance at the burning guard tower before turning back toward the main facility. "This is Simon, over," he said into the communications devise.

The response was not long in coming; "This is Justine, I read you, over."

Simon couldn't help smirking as he continued, "Please relay to the doctor that Area 99 has been taken."

Justine chucked. "Roger that, Simon."

A few minutes later, as Simon entered the facility, the radio crackled to life again; "This is Justine. The doctor is most pleased. He says the package should be delivered shortly."

"Thank you, Justine. Over and out." Simon stood there for a few moments, observing the activity of his men as they scoured the base for survivors. "So much for the Guardian Units of Nations," he chuckled.

~ \/ ~

 _ **Sonic X**_

 **Episode 1:**

 **Meanwhile, at Area 99**

~ /\ ~

" _Aaah_!" Chris shouted for what felt like the hundredth time. He held his hand gingerly while glaring at the offensive piece of machinery. "Enough. Is. Enough!" he continued shouting, biting off each word in frustration. "You are eighteen _years_ old! There can't possibly be that much energy left in you!"

Of course, the large, inactive robot before him could not, and therefore did not, answer. Chris sighed, shook his hurt hand one more time, picked up his electric screwdriver again, and resumed trying to detach the battery from the machine. _'Just this last replacement, and you'll be finished!'_ he thought to himself.

Chris had spent the better part of his seven years as a G.U.N. research scientist improving their defensive and creating new and safer offensive gear. While the higher-ups had initially tried to force him to conform to normal G.U.N. standards, they had eventually decided that, so long as he was working for _them_ , he could do what he wanted. For the first five years, he worked on making G.U.N. safer through their instruments, while others worked on their methods.

Two years ago, however, a boy scout hiking group had gotten lost and discovered the rusted remains of a large android mecha. G.U.N. had been quick to claim it, and Chris had been just as quick to hoard it. He had recognized it immediately, and it had seemed to be the answer to all his problems. _With this_ , he had thought, _I can finally ensure Earth's safety_.

He had named the project "Last Resort" to keep Commander Towers from getting any ideas, and set to work. For the most part, it had been easy; the robot was now fully repaired and ready for activation in all but one component—the generator. When first designed, the robot had been made to run off of a futuristic fuel cell that even Chris hesitated to toy too much with. In fact, he had kept putting off its removal from the machine until everything else had been accomplished. Now it was the only thing which needed to be replaced.

"Well, this looks familiar," Chuck Thorndyke commented as he entered. The elderly man wore a lab coat over his general attire, creating the impression of a dedicated amateur scientist. His face was pleasant but firm, allowing him to communicate easily through facial expression. His dull-pink eyes were a feature often missed, but still contributed to his easy-going personality. His hair was light gray, and was brushed back to keep it from impeding its owner.

Chris only scowled, not bothering to turn around. "I'd like to see you get it done faster."

Chuck chuckled. "Maybe if I could, though I would probably decide to get help."

This comment earned an angry glance. "We've been through this before. I haven't needed help for the past several years, I don't need help now."

Chuck chose not to answer this directly, and instead walked over to a nearby table which held various tools, machine parts, and papers. He picked up one of these papers and read aloud something written on it—"'Paint job finished; fuel cell replacement to follow.'" A different paper: "'Cannot remove fuel cell without damaging relay wiring,'" – at this he looked back at Chris – "and yet you're still trying."

Chris gave a frustrated sigh before tossing his tool onto the table and dragging his body to a nearby chair. Collapsing into it, he closed his eyes and wished for the artificial conscience that was his grandfather to go away. As glad as he was that Chuck still felt he was worth the effort, he couldn't help but feel negative toward the old scientist's methods.

Seeing that Chris didn't intend to answer him, Chuck took advantage of the chance to get a better look at his grandson's projects. Chris was sitting at his desk, upon which sat a yellow tablet with a green screen and a cup of cold coffee. In the center of the room was the large table that Chuck was standing at. An unusual aircraft was sitting in one corner, and a large metal plate with no identifiable purpose lay off to the side. Finally, near where the incomplete robot was standing, a strange pedestal with many openings in the top was poking out of the floor.

Chuck sighed at the realization that he didn't know what any of these things were. Chris hardly talked to him anymore. Ever since the young man had returned from his trip to Mobius he had isolated himself from his family and friends.

 _'Except Helen, of course,'_ Chuck thought with a chuckle. The two had been close even before Chris had left, and their relationship had only strengthened in the months following his return. They had now been married for nine years, and had two children. A lot had changed in Chris during the past twelve years. He was slightly taller, and his face had hardened into a manly one; he resembled his father, but with lighter hair which still stuck out all around the edges. He often wore a lab coat, as befitted a G.U.N. research scientist.

Clearing his head of reminiscent thoughts with a shake, Chuck turned back to Chris, who had calmed down a bit. The younger man was now holding the coffee, trying to decide if it was worth reheating.

"I don't mean to upset you Chris," Chuck said apologetically, leaning against the table. "I just don't want you to work yourself to exhaustion. I'm not the only one who's worried."

Chris sighed, putting the coffee aside and committing his attention to his grandfather. "I know, Grandpa. But this is my job—'design new equipment for G.U.N. to ensure they can better protect the world against threats domestic and foreign.' Right now," – he gestured toward the robot – "that means this."

Chuck frowned, making use of his expressive features. "There's more to your contract than that. Off the top of my head, I think 'nine hours a day, except in time of emergency' might apply right now."

Chris started in his seat. "What time is it?"

"18:16."

A minute later, Chuck was alone in the lab. He chuckled to himself again. "Every night, the same thing."

* * *

"I have just received word from our allies on the other side. They have successfully taken the base!"

"Excellent! Ahead of schedule, too! I suppose this means we can get started?"

"Indeed. I will notify Six and activate the machine."

"I'll be there shortly."

* * *

In a little house on the outskirts of Station Square, Helen Thorndyke sat at her fully set dinner table, watching the clock. She wasn't alone—ten-year-old Chris Jr. and seven-year-old Maria sat on either side of her, intent on the same object. It was 6:42, PM.

At thirty years, Helen was as healthy as most women, with the exception of her disabled legs. She was born with this condition, and went around in a wheelchair as result. Her handicap did nothing to impede her spirit, however; her aptitude to put others first was part of what had endeared her to so many at a young age, particularly her future husband. She was very pretty, with long blond hair and sky blue eyes.

At this moment, those eyes held a mixture of nostalgia, sadness and humor. _'Every night . . .'_ She allowed the thought to trail off. She was used to it, and thankfully so were her children. She just wished _he_ would realize . . .

6:43.

The young ones simultaneously began to chant. "Four, three, two, _one_!"

The front door made a loud bang as it hit the wall, before being slammed back into place. Rapid footsteps signaled the approach of the new arrival. Both the children jumped from their places and rushed toward the dining room entrance, reaching it just in time to greet their father.

Helen noted how the children's onslaught brought a look of surprise to the man's face – _'As usual'_ – before changing it into a joyous grin. She watched as her husband leaned down and lifted his family up in a hug of greeting, before setting them down again and greeting them individually.

"Hey there, Chris! Been to see Taft? That's great to hear! Hello Cosmo! How's my little flower?"

Finally, he stood up and gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Helen. I . . . I lost track of time." _'Again'_ was the thought that traveled through both their minds.

Helen did not cease smiling, glad that her husband was home. "It's alright, Christopher." She meant it; for now, it was alright. So long as the children understood, it would always be alright.

* * *

After the children had been put to bed, Helen and Chris sat in the living room to talk. Helen was cheerful, as usual. Chris was trying to be cheerful, as usual. Of course, Helen could tell he wasn't as cheerful as he wanted her to believe, as usual. Inversely, Chris could tell that Helen saw through him . . . as usual.

"Why is everything so usual," he said aloud.

Helen chuckled. Then sighed. Tonight, she felt the urge to breach the barrier, to ask the forbidden question, to trespass into foreign territory. She didn't want to.

"Chris," she began hesitantly, "you're stressed."

It wasn't a question. A question would have allowed him to disagree without directly contradicting her. As a statement, the concept had to be considered by Chris. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to get direct.

"It'll pass."

So much for that.

"No, Chris, not that kind of 'stressed'."

Chris frowned. He knew what she was talking about, but he didn't want to discuss it. He didn't like worrying her.

"I'm fine."

"You're worrying me more by not talking to me. Plus, you've been dealing with this for several weeks. Whatever your problem is, it's not going to go away on its own."

Chris sighed—she knew him too well. Still, that was part of why he loved her.

"I've hit a snag," he started. "The fuel cell isn't completely empty, which means whenever I try to remove it, I get shocked. Nothing I've tried works, and it's beginning to get on my nerves."

Helen wheeled over to his chair and placed a hand on his arm. "That's not everything," she insisted.

Chris flinched a bit at her touch, but eventually relaxed. "I . . . I feel useless. As head scientist of G.U.N., it's my job to always be ready with something advanced for whatever unexpected obstacle they might encounter. But now, when I'm so close to something that might ensure our safety once and for all, I'm defeated by a poorly maintained battery."

Helen didn't say anything. Instead, she moved her arm around his shoulders, and pulled him into a leaning hug. For a few minutes, they just sat their, bringing comfort to each other through their presence, sharing their stress between them.

Finally, Helen pushed Chris back enough to look into his face. "Chris," she said kindly, "don't try to take the world on your shoulders—it's not yours to take, and you won't ever get it anyway. You're not just a research scientist; you've helped save the world many times, and right now you have friends that respect you, co-workers who look up to you, and a family that loves you. Don't ever feel useless, Chris. I value you more than G.U.N. ever can, and I'm not alone."

Chris looked gratefully into his wife's eyes, before kneeling in front of her and hugging her again. He was so glad he had Helen; sometimes he wondered where he would be right now without her.

That's when Chris's cell phone rang.

Chris made a growling noise, but one look at Helen told him he had better pick up.

"Hello, Christopher Thorndyke here."

"Thorndyke, this is Towers."

Chris groaned inwardly, giving his wife a look which sent her into silent fit of giggling. "Good evening, Commander. How can I help you?"

"Area 99 has been taken by terrorists."

Instantly, Chris's entire demeanor changed. Helen noticed, and also became serious. "When?"

"Earlier today, shortly after thirteen hundred hours. We received part of a distress call at around that time, but it was abruptly cut off and we hadn't been able to confirm it until an hour ago."

Chris frowned. "What do you need from me?"

"Don't worry, you're not a field agent. We just need to know what sort of equipment was being kept there, particularly if there were any comparatively simple-to-use weapons being stored."

Chris considered this request for a moment, running through his mind the inventory of Area 99's arsenal and storage for anything in his department. "No, sir. The only things there now are a couple of Big Foots and possibly one Hot Shot. Other than that, nothing in my line of work except Project Homebound."

"Could that be important?"

"Not likely." Chris scoffed at the idea. "That old thing couldn't be started up by anybody who didn't have a supernova on hand. I'm not even sure if that would work."

"Careful, Thorndyke, remember who you're talking to."

"Sorry, sir."

"Well, if that's all, then we shouldn't have much to worry about. Thanks for the information. Good night, Thorndyke."

"Good night, Commander."

"What was that about, dear?" Helen asked worriedly after Chris had hung-up.

He quickly reassured her. "It's nothing, dear. Area 99 has been attacked by terrorists, and Commander Towers just wanted to make sure there wasn't anything in storage there that the could use. Trust me, this is a minor incident; it will be taken care of by the day after tomorrow."

* * *

Abraham Towers sighed with relief as he placed his cell in his pocket. Not out loud, of course. That would convey something to those around him. If Abraham had learned anything during his time as commander of G.U.N., it was to never convey anything to anyone, except by verbal communication.

He employed this now in addressing the group around the table. "According to Thorndyke, there is nothing to worry about as far as dangerous equipment goes. So it seems as thought this was either a strategical attack, or just a show of force. Either way, it is in our best interests to deal with the threat immediately. Any objections?"

Abraham stared pointedly at the woman sitting to his left at the round table. She was young and sturdy, with tough steel-gray eyes which communicated a fierce courage to anyone who was cursed with her gaze. Her temper was cut short like her light brown hair, and few could match her in a debate. At this moment she stayed silent however, and instead nodded her agreement.

Inwardly, Abraham was glad she agreed—it was so difficult to work with her when she didn't. Outwardly, however, he remained impassive, turning his attention to the other two men at the table.

To his right was Nate Morgan, a research scientist and strategist for G.U.N. Though he was short, he held a solid air about him, which instantly earned him the respect of complete strangers. Those who knew him, however, remembered him for his kind heart and sharp mind. He sported a goatee of white hair, which coincided well with his dark-toned skin, and a pair of rectangular glasses. His normal attire consisted of a yellow jacket over a magenta vest, though he was at that moment wearing a lab coat over it all.

Straight across from Abraham was special agent Luke Travilla. This man was younger than the majority of his co-workers, but still managed to hold his own amongst them. His out-of-standard brown robe hid numerous gadgets and weapons which he could employ in multiple situations. In character, he tried to be friendly, but often came across as impatient, revealing a deep-set tenseness which sometimes broke through and made him dangerous to his enemies. His brown hair and beard was often unkempt, though anyone who said so would be treated to a harsh stare of dirty-blue eyes.

It was Luke that spoke in answer to Abraham's query. "I believe we all agree, Commander. All that remains is to decide how best to proceed."

"Very well," Abraham agreed. "Topaz, I am going to put you in command of a small squadron of troops, along with Speed and Travilla. Morgan, is there anything we should know about Area 99?"

"The walls are very high, and very sturdy," Nate began, "so I would suggest getting through by the main gate. To assist in this, I have procured a special one-man cloaking device which effectively allow invisibility for a period of five minutes. Once this person has got in, they should be able to make entry for the rest possible."

Both Luke and Topaz frowned. "Five minutes isn't very much," the latter objected. "What happens if the device conchs out too soon?"

Nate produced a small disk-like cylinder from his pocket. "This is the latest from the Thorndykes. If you press this button on the front, it will produce a sound barrier-shield for two minutes. The barrier is powerful enough to scatter bullets, and might even be able to redirect a rocket. Each of your team will be provided with two. In a pinch, it can be used as a weapon." Nate placed it on the table, button side up. "If placed like this, then the sound barrier will act as a continuous pulse cannon. Between these and your regular equipment, you should be adequately prepared for any situation."

"Well, then," Topaz declared, "let's get ready for tomorrow."

* * *

High above the clouds of Mobius there hovered what could only be described as a city; towers on the outskirts stretched hundreds of feet into the air, taller towers behind them, and up in a stair-step formation to the central tower extending several miles up. At this most mighty structure's pinnacle was a dome-like construction, wherein the masters of the city held their councils and made their plans. Such was the Sky Fortress II, the creation and home of Dr. Eggman.

Said evil genius was at this moment inside the Eggdome, sitting in his enormous chair and casting his gaze about the room, sometimes expectantly towards the door, other times impatiently at his assistants, mostly admiringly at the large machine at the center of the room. This machine resembled a large upright ring, supported by two large computer consoles. It was at these consoles that the doctor's two assistants were working, hastening to activate the machine.

While Eggman was considering scaring his right- and left-hand creations in to working faster that the door opened and two more figures entered. The first was a short, well dressed, elderly man with a smiling brown-eyed face. Eggman had learned very quickly after their first meeting that any friendly or gentlemanly outlook was but a cover for an ingenious and cruel mind, and the two had eventually joined forces in an effort to put an end to their mutual enemy, Sonic the Hedgehog. His name was Montague, but he was often addressed as "the Mover" by his servants.

Upon their entrance, Eggman stood up to greet them. To say the mad-man mastermind was large would mislead the one who inquired after his appearance. As one might infer from his nickname, Dr. Eggman was of a firmly round shape, with his thin arms and legs stretching out like flimsy tree branches. His round head, with tufts of hair on the side matching his large orange-y mustache and eyebrows, seemed to have been balanced and secured on top. His eyes were hidden by a thick pair of pince-nez, though they did not hide the glare he was training on Montague.

"It's about time!" he exclaimed. "The alignment won't be open forever, you know!"

"I'm dreadfully sorry," Montague replied, outwardly apologetic. "I was under the impression it would last at least another week and a half."

Eggman only scowled in response, choosing to focus his attention on his two assistants again. "How much longer before its ready?!"

Both robots jumped at being addressed. "Only a few minutes, Doctor!" the tall bronze one hastily replied. The short gray one was quick to nod his agreement.

"That's too long!" Inwardly, Eggman chuckled. He so enjoyed tormenting these two. "Step up the pace, or I may have to find other uses for your batteries!"

"Yes, Doctor!" they both exclaimed fearfully, and set to work with renewed fervor.

"There's no need to be so stressed, Doctor." Eggman glared at Montague again. "Everything is working out perfectly. Soon we shall have your precious Emerald, and the fate of the Blue Blur will be sealed."

"I still don't see why we are resorting to this," the third figure interjected, his voice betraying little to no emotion. "I have not yet faced the hedgehog; this was supposed to be a last resort."

"Indeed, Six." Eggman nodded as he sat back down in his chair. "But you underestimate Sonic. No mere frontal attack will break his armor. We must have all seven Chaos Emeralds, or you will never be successful."

"I cannot use them . . ."

"Not yet, but once we have them we will make it so you can. Trust me, Six, this must be done if we are to succeed."

"Besides," Montague interrupted, still using his pleasant tone, "what say have you? You are our creation. The queen in our game of chess, yes, but still under our leadership. You would be dead had we not salvaged what was left of you. Would you deny us your services?"

Six made no response to this, his solid face communicating nothing but his self-control. Eggman couldn't help but shiver slightly; something about his partner's personality always managed to unsettle him.

"Doctor Eggman, the portal is ready!"

* * *

08:37. A Tuesday, which means yesterday was a Monday. Go figure. I pulled my robe a little tighter around me to block out the chill spring air. Topaz glared at me for moving. She should relax. Stress isn't good on missions like this. Or any mission for that matter.

Topaz, Sam and I were crouching behind a land rise a couple hundred yards away from the main gate of Area 99. My companions were dressed in light brown uniforms so as to blend in with the barren desert which surrounded us. I had simply stayed out of sight – you won't ever catch me in those tight-fitting body suits – and followed along at a slower pace. Now we were planning our next move, which was the covert penetration of the carefully guarded main gate.

Actually, we were holding a whispered argument over who would be the one to do it. Each of us knew the dangers, and none of us wanted anyone else to take said dangers on. This argument had started back at the Fort, with an interlude during the drop-off and positioning. Now we needed a decision, and soon. Which meant, unfortunately, that it would be Topaz, since she was the superior officer. Given time, Sam and I might have been able to convince her to let one of us do it. But the moment she mentioned time restrictions, the debate would be over.

"We don't have time for this—every second we waste here increases the risk of being discovered."

There it was. Of course, neither I nor Sam could argue with that, so we shut up. After some final instructions about signals and protocols, Topaz waited for the easily visible wall guard to turn in another direction, before rolling over the rise and slithering toward the compound. Sam and I watched breathlessly (though neither of us would ever admit it), crossing our fingers against her being seen.

Thanks for the most part to the inexperienced guards, Topaz managed to get to the wall unnoticed. She shuffled over beside the gate, took status of the area, and activated the wristwatch-like device on her arm. Her image quickly flickered out of sight.

Now, you probably want to know how she did, and I don't blame you. But I wasn't there, and she never told me. That's just the sort of person Topaz is. So, while I'm pretty sure I could guess what happened, I'm going to hand the story back to the narrator, or whatever you want to call third-person, so that you can get a . . . well, a third-person view of things. Luke Travilla signing off . . .

* * *

Topaz was a bit worried at first—she couldn't detect any difference in her condition, and for a moment she wondered if the device had malfunctioned. As she was trying to decide her next move, however, she noticed something that belayed her fears—her shadow was gone. Sighing in relief, the G.U.N. agent now devoted her full attention to the task at hand.

Moving over to the wire-fence of the outer gates, Topaz began to slowly climb to the top. She had to pause a moment when the guard came too close, but she eventually reached the wall top. Having pulled herself up, she quickly approached the guard, grabbing him from behind and slamming his body against the parapet. She hastily disarmed and restrained him, taking a moment to check the timer on the cloaking device. T – 2:53.

Topaz quickly secured a towline to the parapet before leaping off the wall. Once at the bottom, she made her way to a door near the edge of the wall, and entered. She was out exactly twenty-four seconds later, rushing over to crouch in front of the inner gates. After exactly eighty-three seconds, the gates opened slightly to allow a couple of armed men out. Even as they exited, Topaz entered, barely managing to avoid being bumped. With barely forty seconds left, Topaz headed toward a small building about two yards away from the gate, and quickly entered.

The moment she was inside, she found two pistols and one assault rifle pointed in her direction. It only took an instant to realize the device had stopped working. Three large, full grown men now stood before her, each one determined to kill her should she make a move.

The G.U.N. agent immediately kicked into strategy mode. One man sat by the gate controls at the other side of the room. A second man, the one with the rifle, had been leaning against the wall off to her left before she entered. The third person, a muscular fellow with a beard, seemed to have been about to leave, as he was close to her and the door and seemed to have already been facing in her direction. A plan of action quickly formed in the agent's mind.

T – 0:31.

Topaz reached out and grabbed the arm of the bearded man, pulling him forward while kicking at his legs. He stumbled forward just as the rifle man fired, effectively shielding her. With a shove, she sent the man stumbling toward the console man before leaping upon the rifle man. She quickly grabbed hold of the barrel to redirect the stream of bullets into the wall, before sending her foot directly into the man's stomach. He let out a satisfying grunt of pain, his hold on the rifle relinquishing. With a twist, she sent the butt of the gun into the man's chin, effectively knocking him unconscious. Spinning around, Topaz was just in time to see the console man leveling his gun at her. She was quicker, however, and managed to hit his shoulder, throwing off his aim. With a swift punch, she had taken care of him.

She looked down to identify that the bearded man was still alive before tasing him, and quickly examined the control panel for the correct switches. She hastily opened the inner gate and checked her timer. T + 0:07.

* * *

After Topaz had passed them, the two men headed toward the room she had just left. This was the control room for the outer gate and its defense systems.

"So, what do you think the problem is?" the shorter of the two inquired of his companion.

"How should I know? I heard as much as you," the taller one objected.

"Well, 'experiencing difficulties, need assistance' may not be very specific, but it can't mean just anything, can it?"

"No, I don't suppose it can." He glared sternly at his persistent associate. "But it's not my job to ask questions, just follow orders. Last I checked, that applies to you, too."

The curious questioner grumbled at this, but made no reply.

When the two stepped into the outer-control room, they were surprised by the sight that met them. The operator who was supposed to be on duty was instead on the floor in an unresponsive state. The computer screen showed digital numbers counting down instead of video feeds from the outer wall security cameras. But other than this, there was nothing suspicious; at first glance, it appeared like there had been no struggle.

The larger man quickly knelt down to examine the operator. "Looks like he was hit on the back of the head. How in the world did someone manage to sneak up on him?"

His partner didn't answer, as he was staring intently at the computer. "What's that for, do you think?"

He found out a moment later when it reached 0:00. From outside, the two men could hear the outer gates opening. The computer began to shut down completely. During the confusing seconds that followed, the two men became aware of many footsteps coming from outside.

The larger man leaped up immediately. "We're being attacked! Probably G.U.N., help me get this guy out of here and we'll warn the others. I should've known they'd pull something like this. Hurry up, or they'll . . ."

Neither man noticed the small disk-shaped cylinder slide into the room. Before the speaker could finish his orders, both men suddenly had their feet swept out from under them. Just before they reached the floor, their bodies were flung into the walls, along with the unconscious sentry and the few other furnishings in the room. Both men covered their ears against the sudden high-pitched sound that bombarded them from the small device. By the time two minutes had elapsed, both men were unconscious.

* * *

Upon seeing the gates open, Luke and Sam jumped to their feet and signaled the attack. G.U.N. soldiers emerged from all over the foothills, quickly forming ranks even as they charged in. The inner gate was just opening as they rushed forward, leaving the defending terrorists nothing to do but brace for the attack.

* * *

Simon scowled as he oversaw the battle from a nearby guard tower. Things had been going wrong all day for him. The "package" did not arrive as scheduled, forcing the group to stay longer than intended. The terrorist leader had hoped that G.U.N. would be delayed as well, but inside he knew that was too much to wish for. Sure enough, the Guardian Units had arrived (curse their efficiency!), and were quickly overrunning the poorly trained terrorists.

Simon sighed as he realized they could not possibly hold the base now they had been taken by surprise. The doctor would be furious, but he couldn't really do anything to them, so he'd just have to put up with it. For now, Simon's main objective was to get away from Area 99 before escape had been cut off. Turning from the window, he slowly made his way down the stairs and to the door.

As he was reaching for the door handle, someone else opened it swiftly from the other side, and Simon suddenly found himself staring surprisedly into the equally shocked face of a tall, orange haired, steel blue-eyed G.U.N. agent. Quickly recovering, Simon snarled as he unsheathed a knife from his belt and stabbed forward.

It it had been just any G.U.N. agent, then his life would have ended there. But it wasn't just any agent; it was Sam Speed, the [A Message from Luke: In consideration for your sanity, I have taken the liberty of removing a long list of complimentary praise Sam listed off for himself to the narrator; I hope you don't mind.].

Swiftly realizing what was happening, Sam used the barrel of the sniper rifle he was carrying to deflect the knife attack while simultaneously striking the terrorist across the face with the gun's butt. As the larger man stumbled back, Sam pulled out a taser and fired. The man went rigid and shook violently for a few moments before falling to the ground.

"Take that, slowpoke," Sam shot down at his catch, walking over beside him. "It's gonna take a lot more than a knife to take out this dude."

The downed man just groaned in response, but Sam suddenly stopped smirking and became thoughtful. "Say, haven't I seen you somewhere before?" Sam carefully scrutinized the terrorist leader's large frame, taking note of the scar across his forehead and right cheek, the lengthy black hair, the clean shaven jaw, and the deep set black eyes.

"Well, well, well!" Sam resumed his usual smirk. "If it isn't old Simon 'Scar' Glendale. I haven't seen you in eight years!"

"And if I can help it, you won't see me for many years more!" Simon yelled, before swiping Sam's feet out from under him. Sam, taken by surprise, couldn't get back up before the terrorist had made good on his escape. With a moan of frustration, Sam pulled out his communicator to report on Simon.

* * *

Having been notified by Sam of the infamous Simon Scar's escape, I detached myself from the main battle and rushed off in the direction he had been seen heading in. Though technically, it wasn't really a battle; more like a herding of resistant cattle into their barn. How these guys managed to take the base to begin with – even with Simon – I may never know.

Thankfully I'm a rather fast runner, or Simon might have been long gone by the time I arrived. As it was, he had already started the helicopter and was just waiting for it to warm up. When he saw me, he casually climbed out of the aircraft. I had a feeling that I was about to become part of a one-on-one episode climax battle.

Which I was, but not in the way I thought. Instead of bracing himself for my first attack or charging me straight on, Simon just pulled his rocket launcher out of the back and fired at me. Seeing that he had aimed _at_ me and not _ahead_ of me, I sprawled out on the ground and allowed the explosive to soar over my head. Of course, that gave him enough time to get back in the helicopter and take off.

At that point, he _could_ have just flown off, and I wouldn't have seen him again for the better part of the week. But that's not Simon's style. He takes things like an agent chasing him while he's trying to escape justice personally.

The moment I saw his dual M61s start revolving, I knew I had to find cover immediately. The only problem was, there wasn't any cover. The helicopter had been parked at the edge of the base's airstrip, right near the cliff, and there weren't any other aircraft for . . .

The cliff.

A naughty word entered my mind at that moment. _'Careful, Luke—you've been spending too much time with those G.U.N. people.'_

* * *

Simon was smirking as he rolled the helicopter to face his target. He did _so_ love it when someone tried to apprehend him single-highhandedly. Unfortunately, there wasn't much chance for the lone wolf out here, which meant the fun would be over quickly. Oh well; better that than no entertainment at all.

At least the agent was making a run for it. _'Foolish,'_ the terrorist couldn't help thinking. _'You can't outrun a Vulcan.'_

So saying, he began to fire as he turned the helicopter in his target's direction, before moving it forward in chase. He made sure to fire the cannons slowly, so as not to run out of ammunition before the job was done. His confident grin turned into a frown, however, when he saw where the agent was headed. _'What on Earth does he think he's doing?'_

It was to his shock that Simon shortly witnessed just what the target thought he was doing.

* * *

Having reached the edge of the cliff, I took a deep breath . . . and jumped.

Oh, don't worry, I'm not crazy. Even as I running, I had been assembling a piece of equipment known among G.U.N. agents as the grapple cannon; it's rather large (which is why it has to be assembled), and rather difficult to use, but at that moment I couldn't of thought of any gear that would have been more useful. Except a rocket pack.

When I jumped, I made sure to turn my body around so as to be able to fire the grapple cannon at the cliff wall. Then, by way of manipulation of the machine and my own personal rock climbing skills, I was able to make it to a ledge about fifteen feet down. I remotely detached the grapple, fired the other end into the wall behind me, and waited.

As I had expected, Simon's helicopter soon emerged from above. As soon as he was in sight, I fired the cannon at the copter's underbelly. The result was instantaneous—the momentum of the aircraft nearly flipped it over, but Simon was a skilled pilot. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to escape, I began to climb up the rock wall.

Till I remembered the M61s. Peaking over my shoulder, I could see Simon maneuvering the whirlybird – and its cannons – to face me. Realizing I wouldn't make it to the top before he had me in his sights, I managed to turn myself to I was facing him. Even as he faced me head on, I pulled out Nate's sound-barrier disk.

Even with the shield I could feel the pressure of Simon's attack. The powerful sound waves deflected every bullet, but I couldn't help but worry that one would manage to hit its mark. Until I remembered that these things only worked for two minutes.

I convinced myself to look directly at Simon's aircraft. I could see him through the windshield – he was furious – but what I wanted to see was the ammunition storage for the Vulcans. Not seeing any, I looked down at the cannons themselves. Let me tell you, it is unnerving to be looking directly into the active barrels of twin M61s. Especially when you can see they are almost out of ammunition . . . but still have too much.

My mind, desperately searching for some way out of this situation that didn't include me losing a leg, finally provided me with the answer. Transferring the sound shield to my left hand, I pulled out a grenade, popped it open with my teeth, tilted the shield forward a bit, and tossed the explosive upward.

As I braced myself for the fallout, I could see Simon's face change into the blank expression of a fearless criminal mastermind experiencing fear. Turning his helicopter to the side, he unbuckled himself and leaped out of the vehicle toward the cliff. I don't know how he did it, but the last I saw of him before the copter's mangled door came at me he had disappeared over the edge.

* * *

Simon cursed as he half-dragged, half-limped a short distance to an unassuming bush. Concealed within was his emergency motorcycle. It would be difficult driving with a broken leg, but the only other choice was to be taken captive, and he wasn't going to let _that_ happen.

* * *

I finally managed to reach the top of the cliff after what felt like an hour of climbing, though it was probably two and a half minutes at most. As it so happened, I was just in time to see Ethan Hunt start up his motorcycle. Every time I meet this guy, I'm reminded why he's a priory one. Sometimes I wonder what nuclear bomb managed to give him that scar.

With the last of my strength, I drew a pistol and shot at him. It was stupid, and I knew it; the guy knew enough to wear body armor under his (usually) nice clothes twenty-four seven. Still, there was a spark, so it looked like I hit something.

It wasn't until after he'd gone that I thought about shooting the tires.

* * *

"Alright, line up, ladies, its time for role call!"

Sam couldn't help snicker at Topaz's strange sense of humor. Sure, it was annoying when it was directed at him, but it reminded him of why Topaz was Topaz.

Still, looking at the captured terrorists, he couldn't help feel a little sorry. Not that he'd ever admit it; Luke would never leave him alone if he did.

"You heard her, guys! Get yourselves in order, and be prepared to give your name, rank, and favorite cereal brand!"

He tried to ignore the glare he felt coming from behind him and focus on the chuckles coming from his fellow agents. His customary smirk widened into a grin. He liked being the lighthearted guy, keeping up the morale and being friends with everybody. It was part of what made the lack of speed in this job tolerable.

While he and Topaz were heading the prisoner count, Luke entered into the hanger everyone had collected in looking tired and beaten. Topaz quickly made her way over.

"Got away?"

"Barely, but yeah."

"Figures."

Sam came over and clapped a hand on Luke's shoulder, not noticing the wince this produced. "No prob, Luie, I'll have that bag of . . ."

"I already thought of that," Luke interrupted. "He's gone, Sam. Even if you could figure out where he went, what would you do with him when you caught him?"

Sam shrugged, determined not to be gloomy. "Whatever you say, Luke." He took another look at the two soldiers. "Come on, guys, don't let one spot darken the whole day! It's only 9:51, and we've successfully retaken a major G.U.N. outpost with no casualties! That ought to be reason to celebrate, not mope!"

Luke gave a half-smile. "You're right, Sam. I still would have preferred Scar over twice as many captures, but we did complete the mission; a job well done. I just hope nothing else exciting happens today."

* * *

As Simon sped down the highway, he reached back to his belt and removed the radio. "Justine, this is Simon. I have . . ." He stopped as he noticed the bullet hole in the center of the machine. To tired and hurt to be furious again, he tossed the useless communications device off to the side, not caring where it landed.

 _ **Episode 2: And Then There Was Six**_

* * *

 **The word "simultaneously" has all six vowels in it! Hah!**

 **Anyway, I'm hoping you enjoyed this chapter. If you did, let me know in a review! If you didn't, let me know _why_ in a review. If you just want to rant and swear at me, go ahead—better me than someone less forgiving. If you think more people should read this story, favorite it. If you think you should read more of this story, follow it. Finally, if you enjoyed the story but don't have time or the account required to do any of these things, then that's okay; your enjoyment of the story is just as important to me as anyone else's.**

 **As I say on my profile, I probably won't be able to update regularly (which is normal for most FFN users), but I'll still try to keep my readers happy with what they get.**

 **How shall we end? How about a contest! Absolutely nothing to the first person who can tell me the names of Eggman's assistants without looking it up (keep in mind that Eggman has different assistants depending on the system). An extra helping of the same (and possibly some recognition) to anyone who can tell me which is which without looking it up (I'll admit right now that I can't).**

 **Read & review (just because), God bless you, and shalom! TTT 3/14/2016 11:31 PM [End DST!]**


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